


princess

by deanssammy (babylxxrry)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dysphoria, Fluff, Gender Issues, Genderfluid Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Angst, Other, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 13:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13055004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babylxxrry/pseuds/deanssammy
Summary: Sam’s got a dirty little secret. He can’t even tell Dean, god forbid Dad ever finds out. So he’s patient.[or the one where sam tries to figure himself out.]





	princess

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [31 Days of Winter Prompts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12873555) by [deanssammy (babylxxrry)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babylxxrry/pseuds/deanssammy). 



> this was meant to be a fill for prompts day 17: bow.  
> it got a little out of hand and i like it better as a standalone SO
> 
> Prompt: Bow  
> Warnings/TWs: depictions of gender dysphoria, BRIEF (two word) MENTIONS OF TRANSPHOBIC/HOMOPHOBIC SLURS (f** and t****y)  
> Tags: see tags section bc i'm lazy  
> Pairing: Gen/possible pre-win/weecest
> 
> please do let me know if i got anything wrong!! i don't experience dysphoria myself, but i did as much research as time allowed so hopefully it won't be too wrong?  
> there is also a section at the very end in which pronouns alternate, so apologies if that's confusing. it just didn't feel right having it definitively one set or another (i swapped back and forth at least three times sdhsdjgkjsdkgjk)

Sam’s got a dirty little secret. He can’t even tell Dean, god forbid _Dad_ ever finds out. So he’s patient. He waits until they go off on a hunt for the day. He’s twelve, Dad’s long past worrying about him staying in the motel and going to school alone. Dean’s not, but when Dad says something, that’s the way it has to be. So one of those alone days, Sam knows he only has a half day at school because of some big town event or other, and he’s going to savor the afternoon.

When Sam gets home, he digs to the very bottom of his duffel, pulling out the bag he keeps stuffed in the bottommost pocket. He pulls out three items of seven—a wide, satiny piece of baby blue ribbon, an almost-empty tube of lip gloss, and a soft pair of cotton panties that match the ribbon. The last three items are a plain hairclip, an old white t-shirt he’d modified a few weeks ago, a piece of pastel pink ribbon, and matching pink panties. He’s feeling like blue today, though, so he leaves the bag on the bed and goes to the bathroom to change. He kicks his boxers off and slides his panties up. He gnaws at his lip, uneasy with the way his dick is still so obviously… there. He doesn’t know what to do with it, though, besides ignore it, but he wishes there was a way to make it go away sometimes… like now would be nice.

With a sigh, Sam moves on to tying the ribbon around his neck, tugging at the loops until he has a nice little bow just to the left of his chin. He smears the lip gloss on as neatly as he can and smacks his lips together until he’s satisfied. Then he goes back out to the bedroom and stares at himself in the mirror.

Everything from the top of the hip up looks fine, great, even. The baby chub still lingering around his jaw and cheeks and tummy softens out the new sharp lines that’ve started coming in over the past few months, and Sam’s glad for it. He’s not really sure if he _wants_ all of those “manly angles,” Dean calls them. But from the waist down, Sam’s not really sure what to think. He likes his dick most days, but right now, he really doesn’t want it there, doesn’t want to see it or think about it. He’d almost venture to say it feels _wrong_. He doesn’t understand why or what to do about it, even if there is something, but the longer he stares in the mirror, the more his skin starts to itch and tighten and just feel _off_.

This is a new thing, Sam knows, maybe because puberty’s only just starting to kick in, but when he first started with these secret little dress-up sessions almost a full year ago, he hadn’t had any issue with his body. Now, though? He’s starting to realize that maybe he’s not all boy all the time, but then again, he’s definitely not a girl?

He remembers people whispering nasty things about one of the kids from school a few months ago, things like _fag_ and _tranny_ and calling them a boy’s name and using “he” instead of “them”. He remembers being confused, wondering why everyone couldn’t just respect what they wanted to be called. He’d made an effort to sit with them and talk to them, and when he’d asked about the name and pronoun thing, they’d shrugged.

“I don’t feel like a boy or a girl,” they’d said. “I just feel like me. I’m just Kayley.”

Sam wishes he knew what he felt like. He’s starting to understand the neither boy nor girl thing, but he’s also pretty sure he feels like a boy most of the time, except these rare moments where he just can’t figure out what he is but he knows he doesn’t want to look down and see what’s there. His skin’s so fucking tight and he wants to cry, so he tries to force himself to stare at the top half of the mirror, focuses on the bow and the lip gloss and the way his hair curls a little at the ends, almost brushing his shoulders.

That might be why he doesn’t hear the slide of the keycard in the door until it’s too late and Dean’s standing in the open door, mouth agape.

Sam’s rooted in place, can’t move anything, but his heart’s pounding a zillion miles an hour and he can feel tears of shame starting to well up. Dean wasn’t supposed to know. No one was supposed to know.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice is rough, low, curious. But not angry.

“I- I’m so sorry, Dee, I’m sorry,” Sam blurts out shakily, covering himself with his hands even though he knows Dean’s already seen the whole getup. “I know I’m fucked up, I’m sorry, I’ll change back.”

“Hey, hey, Sam, c’mere,” Dean says, apparently regaining his ability to move. “Hey, it’s okay. Calm down. Breathe.”

Dean approaches slowly, hands held up in front of him like he’s calming a wild animal, and honestly, Sam doesn’t feel like much more than that right now. Dean crouches a few feet from him.

“Sammy. Come here,” Dean says, opening his arms.

Sam debates it for a few seconds. It doesn’t look like Dean’s going to hurt him or yell. He takes the two steps over and lets Dean pull him into a hug. Dean combs gently through Sam’s hair, shushing him gently as big tears start to roll down his cheeks. Dean wasn’t supposed to know, wasn’t supposed to see, wasn’t supposed to know how _wrong_ Sam felt sometimes.

“Shh, Sammy, it’s okay, sweetheart. C’mon, we’re going to sit on the bed and then you can tell me what’s happening, okay?”

Sam remembers the bag of things on the bed and briefly panics before he realizes it’s nothing worse than what he’s got on now. He just buries his face in Dean’s shoulder as Dean hoists him onto his hip like he’s a baby again and carries him over, settling them against the headboard so Sam can curl sideways in his lap, against his chest.

“Before you say anything, Sam, I just want you to know that I’m not going to yell at you or hit you or anything like that. I’m still going to love you no matter what, alright?” Dean murmurs, thumbing away some of the tears on Sam’s cheek. “So tell me, darling, what’s all this?”

“’s pretty. I like being pretty,” Sam starts, then realizes there’s so much to tell and panics again. There’s so much to tell. Everything from the gender thing to the tight skin thing to the dick thing. There’s too much to tell, Dean’s going to freak out, maybe leave and never come back, or maybe he’ll tell Dad and Dad will beat him for sure because no self-respecting Winchester man wears panties and wants to be pretty.

“Breathe, Sammy, breathe, you’re okay. I’ve got you,” Dean’s whispering in Sam’s hair, and Sam realizes he’s been holding his breath. He let it out in a whoosh.

“I like being pretty,” Sam says again, because that’s the only thing he’s sure about.

“Okay,” Dean nods. “Is that all?”

Sam shakes his head. “’s weird but like… sometimes when I see what’s… down there, I get all itchy and it feels like my skin’s too small and I dunno, I don’t like seeing my dick? But I don’t wanna be a girl all the time, I just don’t want to be a boy sometimes. That doesn’t make any sense, sorry.”

“So you like being pretty and wearing panties and bows and lip gloss, you’re a boy but not always, and sometimes it makes you uncomfortable to have a penis?” Dean asks, voice carefully neutral.

Sam nods, biting at his lip. It tastes like sticky-sweet lip gloss.

“Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No, Sammy, never. Not about this. Here, give me a couple days and we’ll see what I can do to help, okay? I have some friends who know more about this than I do.”

“Okay,” Sam whispers, dropping his head against Dean’s chest and fiddling with the amulet. “Thank you.”

“Oh yeah, Dad’s gonna be out for about two weeks so he dropped me off here so you wouldn’t be alone so long. That gives us some time, right?”

 _Us_. Dean means that they’ll try and figure it out together. Sam nods, smiling just a little and sniffling.

In the next few days, Sam learns about tucking, and Dean makes him something called a _gaffe_ , which keeps the tuck in place. While Sam doesn’t really think he’ll need it outside of dress-up times, he discovers that occasionally just having it on under his normal clothes is a reassurance. They browse the web together, making notes of important tips for tucking, doing research on gender and specifically gender-fluidity, which Sam thinks might fit him. Maybe. Dean suggests the terms _demi-boy_ or _demi-fluid_ , and Sam finds that although they fit pretty well, trying to label everything scares him a little, so he just sticks with “I’m mostly a boy but not always.” Dean just nods, smiles, and presses a gentle kiss to his temple.

A couple days before Dad comes back, Dean leaves the room early and comes back just as Sam’s waking up.

“Morning, Sammy,” Dean greets, and Sam yawns. “Pronouns?”

It’s become a new habit of theirs over the past week, to try and figure out what pronouns Sam’s comfortable with every morning. Five or six mornings out of seven, it’s he/him, but every so often, Sam will whisper _she/her,_ and once, _they/them_. That didn’t really fit, they found, so Sam’s stuck to just he or she.

“Either today, I think,” Sam says. Dean nods.

“Okay. I picked up some things you might like,” Dean says, and Sam bounces eagerly on the bed. He makes grabby hands at the plastic bag like he’s three again and asking for cereal instead of finishing his toast.

Dean laughs and tosses the bag over, coming a beat later to sit next to Sam.

Sam lays out four items, all fairly packable, and he can see that Dean kept their nomadic life in consideration when he bought things. It makes him smile. There’s mascara, a new tube of lip gloss, and a circular thing that Sam suspects is blush. The last thing makes her gasp. It’s a pair of thigh-highs, white with a little black bow at the top.

Sam throws herself into Dean’s arms.

“Thank you so much, Dee, thank you thank you thank you!”

Dean strokes her hair gently. “You’re welcome, Sammy, wanna try some of it on?”

Sam nods, grabbing the bag along with the gaffe, t-shirt, and the pink panties and ribbon from his duffel. He shuts himself into the bathroom, getting everything perfected down there before he pulls the stockings on, pulls the t-shirt on, and ties the bow. The lip gloss is easy, the blush is fairly self-explanatory, but the mascara takes a little bit of experimentation. He manages to swipe some on his lashes without too much collateral damage, and when he looks at himself in the mirror, he has to admit that he looks good. He looks like a girl. Pretty. Soft.

When he walks out to Dean, Dean smiles wide.

“Wow, Sammy,” he breathes, and Sam twirls a little. She’d painstakingly sewn the back of the shirt pleated so that it’d fall on her with some kind of shape. The bottom of it flares up just a bit when she spins, showing off the panties underneath.

“How’s it look?” Sam asks shyly, looking up at Dean through his lashes.

“Really damn good, sweetheart. My beautiful princess.”

Sam blushes and beams. That’s all he wants to be, Dean’s princess.

The beauty is just a bonus.

 

 

-fin.

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment or kudos if you might want to see more in this verse!


End file.
